3. MARCY
MARCY
“Ireally needed this…”
I breathe the words out before I even realize I’m saying them.
For the first time all night, I’m not drowning in my thoughts. The warmth of the whiskey, the hum of music vibrating in my bones, the lingering sensation of Ryder’s lips brushing my skin—it’s all working together to carve out a rare pocket of peace.
Until reality decides to slap me in the face.
My phone buzzes. Again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw tightening as I fish it out of my pocket.
Mom. For the tenth time tonight. Maybe more. I don’t even have to open the texts to know what they’ll say.
Where are you?
Your father is upset.
You should be here.
Marcy. Answer me.
I let out a slow breath through my nose and flip my phone over, screen down. I refuse to let her or him ruin this night.
And right on cue, the distraction I need arrives.
Hawk slides into the seat across from me, easy as you please, flashing a slow, lazy grin.
Where Ryder is all muscle and quiet intensity, Hawk is something else entirely.
He’s leaner, but it suits him—long legs stretched out beneath the table, an easy confidence in the way he moves.
His moss-green eyes glint with amusement, and his long silver-streaked hair is tied back loosely, strands escaping to frame his rugged face.
These men are so much older than me, but they don’t treat me like a child.
If Ryder is a storm, Hawk is the smooth whiskey you sip while watching it roll in.
And damn if I don’t feel his energy shift the entire room the second he sits down.
“Not a fan of your ringtone?” he asks, nodding toward my abandoned phone.
I huff, rubbing a hand over my face. “More like not a fan of who’s on the other end of it.”
His brow lifts. “Someone bothering you?”
I shake my head. “Just my mother.”
“Ouch,” he says.
“She’s got this great talent for texting a hundred times in a row without waiting for a reply.”
His smirk deepens. “Sounds exhausting. No wonder you’re drinking.”
I exhale a laugh, finally looking at him. “I’m starting to think that’s why people come here. To forget their problems.”
He leans back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth. “Sweetheart, people come here for all kinds of reasons. Booze. Music. Trouble.” His grin turns devilish. “You look like you might be here for a mix of all three.”
I snort. “I don’t think I qualify as trouble.”
Hawk tilts his head, appraising me in a way that makes heat creep up my spine. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You got a little something wild in you. I can see it.”
Something about the way he says it—smooth, deliberate, like he’s already figured me out—makes my stomach flip.
I shake my head, taking another sip of my drink. “You flirt with every girl in this bar like this?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile tugs at my lips, anyway. “That your thing? Sweet-talking women until they fall at your feet?”
Hawk leans forward, resting his arms on the table, and lowers his voice just enough to make it dangerous.
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t sweet-talk anyone.”
My breath hitches.
His eyes flick to my lips before sliding back up to meet mine, full of mischief, of intent. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I swallow. Hard. I force a laugh, shaking my head as I swirl the last bit of whiskey in my glass.
“You’ve got me all wrong, Hawk. I’m a good girl.”
His lips twitch, eyes glinting like he’s already calling bullshit. “That so?” he drawls, tilting his head.
“That’s all I’ve ever been,” I admit, a little too bitterly.
The words slip out before I can stop them.
The whiskey is loosening my tongue, making me say things I usually keep locked up tight.
But I don’t stop myself. Maybe it’s the way Hawk is looking at me.
Like he actually wants to hear what I have to say.
I set my glass down with a soft clink and sit back. “Straight-A student. Always followed the rules. Never stepped out of line. Did everything my father expected. Hell, up until today, I barely made a decision for myself that didn’t factor in how it would affect him.”
Hawk watches me, unreadable, his fingers tapping lazily against the side of his own glass.
“So what changed?” he asks.
I let out a slow exhale, shaking my head. “I hit my breaking point.”
He hums, considering me. “And what does breaking point Marcy want?”
The question sends something sharp through my chest. What do I want?
For so long, I haven’t even let myself think about that. My whole life has been dictated by expectations, by duties, by making sure my father’s world ran smoothly while mine crumbled.
And now, sitting here, in this dimly lit biker bar with a man who sees me more in five minutes than my own family has in years… I don’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”
Hawk leans in, his smirk turning softer. “That’s a good start, sweetheart.”
His voice is smooth, low, a little rough around the edges in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
“You don’t have to be just a good girl, you know,” he murmurs. “You can be whatever the hell you want.”
His words settle deep, striking a chord in me that I wasn’t expecting. I exhale. “Unfortunately, you’re wrong, Hawk. I’m a good girl.”
I pull out my phone and start texting.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Texting my friend to come get me,” I say.
MARCY: Can I crash at your place tonight?
It takes less than a minute for my phone to buzz with her response.
BIANCA: Of course. What’s going on?
I hesitate for half a second before deciding I don’t have the energy to explain everything in a text.
MARCY: Long story. I’ll tell you when I see you. I’m at 12 Devils.
BIANCA: The biker bar?! Girl, WHAT??
I snort, shaking my head as I type back.
MARCY: I’ll explain. Just get here. Half an hour?
BIANCA: On my way. Do NOT get kidnapped.
I roll my eyes but feel a weight lift off my chest. At least I have somewhere to go. Somewhere that isn’t home.
I set my phone down, exhaling. For the first time tonight, I feel… lighter. Like maybe walking out of my father’s house wasn’t just some drunken rebellion. Maybe it was the first real decision I’ve made for myself in a long, long time.
“You look like you just decided to take over the world,” Hawk muses.
I smirk, stretching my arms over my head. “Something like that.”
His lips twitch. “Well, if you’re gonna start your villain arc, you might as well get the grand tour.”
I raise a brow. “Of what?”
He stands, nodding toward the back of the bar. “The Den. You game?”
I hesitate for a beat, then push back my chair. “Yeah. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I follow Hawk through a side hallway, away from the main bar, my boots clicking softly against the worn floor. The deeper we go, the quieter it gets, the noise of the bar fading behind us.
The hallway is dimly lit with the smells of whiskey, leather, and faint traces of smoke. The walls are lined with framed photos, patches, and old memorabilia—the history of The 12 Devils MC is laid out like a damn museum of mayhem.
Motorcycle parts hang from hooks like trophies, and a massive black flag bearing the club’s insignia—a skull with devil horns and wings—dominates the far wall.
A large wooden table sits in the center of the next room, chairs circling it like some outlaw version of a boardroom.
This is where the real business happens, I realize. This is where decisions are made.
Hawk strolls in like he owns the place.
I hesitate at the threshold, suddenly unsure. “Uh… am I even supposed to be back here?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re with me, sweetheart. That means you go where I go.”
The words send a small, stupid thrill through me, but I mask it with a scoff. “Dangerous logic.”
Hawk chuckles. “Stick around, and you’ll see just how dangerous I can be.”
I roll my eyes but keep moving.
I glance at the various doors lining the hallway, curiosity tugging at me. One of them is cracked open, and before I can think better of it, I push it wider and step inside.
Wrong move.
The second I cross the threshold, Hawk’s voice snaps behind me. “Not there?—”
Before I can react, he’s right behind me, reaching for my wrist, but the door swings shut with a solid thunk. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares at the closed door.
I blink. “Uh… what’s wrong with the door?”
He exhales through his nose, raking a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “Knob’s busted. You gotta jiggle it just right to get it to open.”
I arch a brow. “So… we’re stuck?”
Hawk mutters something under his breath, then turns to me, lips quirking. “That depends. You in a hurry to get away from me, sweetheart?”
My stomach flips at the way he says it. Slow, teasing, full of intent.
I cross my arms. “You’re enjoying this.”
His grin turns wicked. “Maybe.”
A charged silence stretches between us. I should be panicking about being locked in a room with a man I barely know. But instead, heat licks up my spine.
Hawk’s eyes drop to my lips before sliding back up to mine. “You remember what I said earlier?” His voice is lower now, rougher.
I swallow, my pulse thrumming in my throat. “You say a lot of things.”
He steps closer, a slow, predatory movement. “I said you weren’t just a good girl.”
My breath catches. His hand lifts, fingers skimming my hip. Just barely there, but enough.
“You got something else inside you,” he murmurs, his voice dark and full of promise. “Something wild. Something you’ve been holding back.”
I don’t know who moves first.
One second, there’s space between us. The next, I’m backed against the wall, Hawk’s mouth crashing against mine.
Heat explodes through me as his hands grip my waist, rough and demanding. I fist the front of his cut, pulling him closer, feeling the solid press of his body against mine.
He tastes like whiskey and danger, his tongue sliding against mine with a cocky, I knew you’d cave kind of confidence.
Hawk kisses me like he owns me. Like he’s already decided I’m his for the taking. And God help me, I let him.